The letter shown to Chester St. John was, as the reader has doubtless surmised, the work of Evelyn Hilton, and written at the dictation of her husband. Cold and unkind though she had been to her daughter while the latter had been in attendance on her, it cost her a struggle to write the words that would make her child appear in such an evil light to the man for whose eye it was intended. There had been a stormy scene in the chamber of the invalid on the occasion of the writing of this letter, for at first Mrs. Hilton had boldly declined to do the work required of her. “You shall write the letter, and write just exactly as I dictate you. How dare you refuse to obey me?” he almost shouted, grasping Evelyn’s delicate wrist so tightly that she cried out with pain. Even after this outburst she ventured to offer another feeble protest. “How can you ask me to do that which will ruin the reputation of my own child? Oh, Oscar, think of your own Isabel. Could any threat of harm to yourself or any inducement that could be offered you compel you to write one line that would injure her?” “You amuse me, Evelyn, you are developing rare dramatic talent in your old age--your pretense of love for your child is really a fine piece of acting--bah! Do you think I believe it is anything more than acting? Did you love your child when you would have placed her in an asylum sixteen years ago? A little, helpless toddler of two years? You talk of the ties of natural affection! What had you done with that sentiment when you forged your husband’s name, and branded the man who had loved you truly as felon, suffering him to be cast into a prison for your sins? Good heavens, I have killed her!” The last exclamation broke from Hilton’s lips with a cry of unfeigned alarm, for Evelyn had fallen back like one dead among the cushions of her easy-chair. Oscar Hilton had loved this woman--next to his idolized daughter--better than anything in life, and she had not even yet lost all sway over his selfish heart. He was thoroughly alarmed now, and used every effort in his power to restore her, fearing to call any assistance lest in her first moments of awakening to life she might say something to betray her perilous secret. It seemed to him that hours had passed before his efforts were rewarded with success, and the dark-blue eyes he had once thought so beautiful lost that strained and awful look that had so terrified him. “How did you learn my secret?” she cried, when fully restored.